


Hells Prince

by Sparrowstilinskihale



Series: Teen Wolf au verse [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angels, Blood, Crowley is King of Hell, Demons, F/F, F/M, M/M, Tattoos, Violence, Werewolves, most supernatural creatures, sad beginning happy ending, some phrases in other languages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparrowstilinskihale/pseuds/Sparrowstilinskihale
Summary: Hells prince is a well known name across the supernatural world. Some say the people who meet with him are never seen or heard from again, others say he's just an tale made to scare young kids. Strange markings cover his body, with a eye of the deepest brown and the other reviling the seas striking colour. With fangs like a wolf and as sharp as daggers, black wolf ears nicked and scared pair with an equally damaged tail. Scars old and new cover his body some from knives and swords most from whips, hands and feet. Most say he is evil with a heart of stone. Others say he's a demon with no control. It can be agreed by all that he is not sane, that I am not sane. My name is Dean Emery Sparrowson Tiny. Some call me D.E.S Tiny, others call me Fake but I call myself Sparrow. This is my story, this is my life and this is only the beginning.
This story contains strong language and scenes of violence. Again I am sorry for anyone who is offended by this and will try my best not to offend anyone. Images used in the cover are not mine and belong to their respective owners. Later in the story i I will be adding multiple slash pairings and the teen wolf universe and characters( these do not belong to me and belong to Jeff Davis).





	1. The troubles of an immortal teenager

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on wattpad. Both belong to me. Just different user names.

My birth was nothing spectacular, a little bit off blood, a lot of screaming and sandy. I was born in ancient Egypt, it was a beautiful place and life was simple. My family were a small family by wealthy. The last name tiny was given to us as we were a family of three where as most families consisted of around 10 to 15, this included cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. I never knew who my grandparents were or if they even existed. During my life in Egypt I was worshipped as a God, I would say it's because of my God like good looks but the truth is it was because I had wolf ears and a tail to match. I was seen as a mortal embodiment of a God more specificity Anubis, the jackal headed God of death. My life was great until my mother was murdered during the dark ages.  
   Between my mothers murder and my life in Egypt, I learnt about my family. My grand parents were dead and my farther didn't have any. I was told that my farther was a gift to the world from the Gods and I was a miracle. My grandmother died during childbirth after bing possessed by a dark sprit which was passes from her to my mother, then when she died passed on to me. After my grand mothers death,my grand farther died from a broken heart.  
  I had stopped ageing at the age of 15 after receiving a blessing from the Greek goddess of the hearth, Hestia. She gave me this blessing with the words, " live long, young child, find a family of your own and share my blessing with them so you may never be alone in this world. Don't forget it is okay to be weak young one but find those who will make you strong, give you wisdom and care for when you in time of great need." My farther already had immortality so there was no need for him to receive Hestia's blessing my mother also had immortality unless she died for evil. Evil, the word first had meaning to me the day she died. She had sacrificed her self to save me and my farther never let me forget it with it was with a whip, his hands and feet or blades.  
  One moment that stands out to me during all of my life is the first beating, it was around a few weeks after my mother died. Up until this point my father seemed to be getting angrier, forcing me to cook and clean, arguing with me and hitting the back of my head a lot harder when I made stupid mistakes. I was no longer allowed to call him farther instead sir, by this point I had been threatened with beating regularly but that day I accidentally let my demonic powers out destroying some of the crops and any farmers in the area. I had replaced the crops and made it look as if it had been a mass animal attack on my farther's  orders but he had to punished me.  
"Dean Emery Sparrowson Tiny" a voice bellowed breaking the peacefulness of the house. A boy no older then 15 scrambled from his position on his bed, eyes wild, heart beat just as wild and uneven. He raced down to the basement were the voice had come from, the stairs creaking under his weight and the pressure he was putting on them. He raised a trembling fist to the door and knocked. "Yes, sir", a quite yet rough voice spoke awaiting the order to enter. His eyes wide enhancing  the bi coloured eyes. His breathing calm, his heart betrayed his calm exterior by hammering in his chest, blood was pumping loudly in his ears. The voice quieter now but loud in the quite house replied after what felt like centuries but was only a couple of seconds with "enter". He stepped into the room,eyes scanning the room taking in each weapon on the walls. Small daggers lined the base of one wall gradually increasing in size until it reached a large sword, whips across a different wall ranging rom a few centimetres to a metre long other walls had cross bows and maces. The boy whimpered in fear of what the man in front of him was going to do, would he slash at him until he bled out, whip him until he lost consciousness, beat him until his pulse was low and breath so shallow he was almost dead. "son, what you did was inexcusable, I do not want to punish you but it's the only thing I can do. You need to learn to behave." He walked over to the wall and picked up a small dagger. The older male told the boy to lie down on the bench in the corner and remove his shirt, before the boy could lay on his back the older male told him to lie flat on his stomach. The older male walked to the boy lightly dragging the dagger down his spine, as he moved the blade down the boys spine he started to add more pressure until he drew blood at the base of the boys spine. The older male continued to drag the blade across the boys spine until his back was covered in blood with a steady stream pouring form the open wound. The dagger was removed from the boys spine and replaced with a medium sized whip. "I am sorry but this is for your own good. The more you cry out the more lashes there will be. Am I clear."  
"Yes, sir" , the boy replied, voice trembling and cracked. fear clear in his voice and eyes.  
The whip came down, drawing blood, hammering across the boys already wounded spine. The blood from the boys body splattered across the walls, the table and the two males in the room. The boy had little strength left and had almost passed when his farther put the whip down. " you may leave."  With the little strength the boy had left he dragged himself off the table and gathered his shirt be for struggling out of the basement and upstairs to a room where he could attempt to start to heal himself.  
      That was the day I lost all respect for my farther, the day I learnt that my farther only cared about himself and his reputation among his army and his followers. I had multiple more beating all about the same thing, I killed my mother. I went to Hell and asked for the Evil sprit in me to be converted into a demon, I wanted to train to be better, to be feared.Even after I became a demon in training I still had my farther's beatings, I still had the words beaten into me, or in most cases carved in with a 'special' dagger. Silver infused with mountain ash, mistletoe and wolf bane. A few weeks after my demon training started a tattoo of a set wings started to bleed out onto my skin, ink coming out of wounds instead of blood, pooling at the base of my spine then stretching across the skin of my back, creating lines and leaving black feathers in its wake. Each small individual feather joining together with the rest of the individually styled feathers to create an image of pure grace, of life like wing of a deep black the almost seemed to glisten in the dim light of the basement. Only then did I tell my farther about my training. 

After years of training the king of Hell, Crowley, held a tournament to see who would be the new prince of Hell. By this point I was one of the best fighters in the army, the scars the coated my body, my ears and tail were battle scars and scared many of the younger demons, my wings fully formed and as sharp as the daggers in my belt. By the end of the tournament I was no longer Dean Emery Sparrowson Tiny but Hells prince. I am The Prince of Hell and this is my story and only just the beginning.


	2. Hot as Hell

By the time I was crowned prince I had started to refer to my self as Sparrow. The name became a code name of sorts, often being yelled across halls and forests in an attempt to track me or at least find my general area. Code names became a large part of my personality, each being a different part of me. Hellhound was for when assassinations were needed or for when missions were bloody and full of gore. Prince, was for formal meetings and large social gatherings. My favourite code name  had to be D.E.S Tiny or destiny, I used this name for personal or close up kills. D.E.S Tiny became a feared name, an tale told to misbehaving children as a way to scare them into behaving. I can to realise that names held a lot of importance in the world, a name was given to me by my mother when I was born, only for me to disgrace that name by allowing her to die. I no longer felt worthy of my birth name and changed it, my name became a symbol of what I wanted to be, free. A sparrow is a type of bird, birds are often told to be free, they aren't tied down to mortal needs, they don't need money, they don't need to work all they must provide is a nest and food for their family. My time, as little as it may be, as prince has taught me patience and skills to help me during the less peaceful part of my existence, the murder, the beatings and the wars.  
    My clothes for missions are made so I fit in with the Victorian era, mis matched leather, sown raggedly together in a rough pattern, tears across the back, buckles keeping what stitches could not together. Underneath a simple white shirt with a grey leather waistcoat, covered in buckles to keep the coat together and hold weapons. To fit in a simple red prices of cloth was tied around my neck as a neck tie. Rough cut trousers hung loosely on my hips, baggy on my legs, cover in more buckles, which this time was just for weapons. I wore knee high leather boots, made of worn leather and covered in mud. I had weapons hidden everywhere including the leather arm guards covering my wrists and the back of my hands . I loved wearing this, it made me feel like I was wearing a costume, it was my escape from reality, when I put this on I wasn't the Prince, I wasn't sparrow, I was D.E.S Tiny. The name gave me power, the name gave me a sort of bloodlust. I could and would kill anyone. My father couldn't touch me, I was untouchable, I was free, as free as the bird I named my self after. The freedom was great while it lasted, the longer I was in hell the harder the beatings became when I was home. My father did not know about me being a prince, and to this day he still doesn't know.  
  My view on the world had changed, demons were going out and making deals and 10 years later they were killing the victim of their deals. I wanted to change that, selfless people making deals shouldn't be punished for trying to keep loved ones safe. I wanted selfish dealers to be punished and the selfless to be praised and rewarded by being able to live the rest of their life with their family and friends. I created this new law and it made me even more desirable, more wanted to follow in my foot steps and be a good demon and change for the better, but as always I had many people who disliked me and grew resentful because of this law.  
As I grew my body grew and more tattoos were added, the biggest going across from my shoulder. A tribal marking to represent my time in Australia, around 24 years. I traveled and as I did I learnt languages, Italian,French,Arabic and many more. I learnt to use my wings, the feeling of the wind rushing through my feathers sends my heart racing and my pulse soaring. It wasn't the feeling of the wind rushing through my feathers that gets me high, it's the freedom, there are no strings to hold me down. It's my space, no one else can find me, I was a bird, I was the sparrow, I was my own freedom.  
   With my wings came beatings, harder then when I escaped to hell. He would clip my wings and make me watch as the feathers fell to the floor, lifeless and useless. With every wing lost there was a sharp pain, every time they where clipped it became harder to fly as the pain would always become unbearable. My freedom became my torture, my wings became my enemies, I was no longer free in my own body.  
  Running with Wolves became my new past time, it was the only thing my father couldn't   take away from me. Time and time again he would slash at my ears and tail but that didn't stop me running with them. Fur always grew back, ears always repaired them selves, the only thing that didn't heal was the scars made with his special knife because of that knife I had a scar running from one eye diagonally down to the corner of my lip. The cut faded to nothing but a faint line but the memory was implanted in my mind, the searing pain that followed the knife as it dragged its self through skin and muscle, the feeling of blood pouring out of the wound covering my face in blood, filling my mouth with its disgusting metallic flavour and overwhelming my senses with a powerful aroma that came with the taste. I couldn't scream without choking on the blood, I couldn't move my arms as they were bound against my back. That was the first time I realised how little my father cared for me, how he only kept me for the power that came with having a son, a supernatural monster that he could control, a beast that was designed to follow orders without a word in response apart from the "yes, sir" that followed every command. I was trapped in an endless loop of pain without freedom and freedom without pain. I could leave as I had no where to go until that fateful night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
